


Thaw

by ladyoneill



Series: Lady O's Teen Wolf Bingo Stories [99]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blizzards & Snowstorms, First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something going on in the Preserve.   John and Peter are patrolling when a sudden blizzard hits them, and Peter's determined to get them both to safety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thaw

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hurt/Comfort Bingo prompt: hypothermia. Set about six days after the last ficlet in this series, a few days before Stiles is due home for Christmas. The fifth and last story for now with these two and I sadly did not find the smut muse. Thanks to all who are reading and kudoing and commenting on my take on Peter/John!

There's something causing the animals and birds to act strangely. Research hasn't solved the problem, Deaton's clueless, so John and Peter have spent part of the last four nights in the woods. 

One minute they're walking silently through a large meadow in the Preserve, the night sky clear and dark, the air chilled but still, and the next they're in the midst of a blizzard. Within moments the temperature plummets, the wind wails, and the snow beneath their feet is over their boot tops and drifting dangerously.

Shifting his eyes, Peter can still only see about two feet in front of him and visibility is growing worse with every second. Next to him, he sees John flail out an arm, and catches it, as he fumbles with the radio at his collar with the other. Even through the wind, Peter can hear the static.

That's not good.

"Peter?" John yells over the roar.

"I've got you," he yells back, pulling him close. John is already shivering, his hair coated in snow and ice, the heavy jacket he's wearing not enough protection from the wind and biting cold.

Peter can feel it seeping through his coat and sweater, chilling his skin. It has to be much worse for John.

"We need to find shelter." Seeing John nod, Peter tries to think of some place, any place, to ride out this storm. He knows they were walking generally northwest from the creek that cuts through the southern half of the Preserve. The tunnels beneath the old manor still remain, but they're a good two miles to the east. Holding John tightly by the arm, he starts them in that direction, but the snow on the ground is thick and heavy and difficult to move through.

It doesn't take long before he knows they're not going to make it.

His feet already feel the cold. Even gloved his fingers are growing numb. Beneath his hand he can feel John shaking. Beneath the howling of the wind he can hear his teeth chattering.

"J--Jesus..."

Unless this storm stops, they'll die out here long before they can reach the tunnels. 

When they make it into a break in the woods, the beginning of what has to be a game trail as this is Hale land and the public paths are way behind them, he stops them for a minute, letting both of them catch their breaths in the lee of a tall oak. The snow here isn't as thick on the ground, yet, and the trees cut some of the wind, but the temperature has continued to drop. It has to be below freezing.

Thinking, running through his memories of this section of the Preserve, all the while realizing his mind is growing sluggish and the cold is making everything slower, Peter latches onto a dim thought of an old shack on the edge of the lake. It was used by the Hale kids as a place to change for swimming. He doubts there are any provisions, but if it's still standing, it will provide shelter.

But...which way? Dammit! Turning his head and flinching at the blast of snow to his face, he realizes visibility has dropped even more.

"Peter?"

Pale blue eyes meet his, scared and dull, and when they start to slide shut, Peter shakes John, then pulls him closer, wrapping his arm around him. "Stay awake, John!"

He's pretty sure the shack is only about seventy yards away but it's directly into the wind, and moving through the snow is slow and painful. After only about ten steps, his knees and shins ache, his feet are numb, and he's shivering, too. Somehow John, who has to be feeling all of it much worse, plods next to him and they hunch down and push through the woods. There's less snow beneath the tightly packed trees on either side of them, but if they go off this game trail, they'll never find the shack. Peter knows it leads to water.

He prays it leads to the lake.

What seems like hours pass, but he knows it can't have been more than fifteen minutes, when John stumbles and starts to fall.

"NO!" Peter screams, holding him up, desperately trying to hear a heartbeat, but the storm is too loud, and John's' eyes are closed, his face white. Pulling his limp body against a tree, he buries his face in the other man's ice-coated neck and tries to shut out everything but the sound of a heartbeat.

Nothing.

He turns his face, places his mouth right over the pulse, and is rewarded with a tired thump and then another.

Tears of relief freeze against his eyelashes and somehow he finds the strength to hoist John over his shoulder before continuing down the trail.

When he breaks from the trees he sees the dim shape of a building a few feet to his left and nearly sobs.

The shack still stands. Peter breaks the lock with ease and staggers through the door, his legs barely functioning, his frozen feet not understanding why there's no longer any difficulty in moving forward. Falling to his knees, his back shutting the door, he can't stop John from sliding off his shoulder to the wooden floor.

Gasping for breath, he wraps his arms around his shivering body and tries to force himself under control. Slowly his mind thaws and he realizes that while it's cold in the small building, its still in one piece, the walls thick enough to keep out the wind and snow, the one window solid glass, coated with rime on the exterior but nothing on the inside. And, while the wind howls outside, he can hear John's heart beating, his breath rasping from his pale, chapped lips. As Peter's eyes quickly adjust to the dim light, he spies an old trunk a few feet away and crawls over to it.

Inside are beach towels, a couple old quilts, and a lantern. One shake tells him that there's still kerosene in it, and he fumbles deeper in the trunk for matches. He ends up wasting several before he can get a flame to light the lantern, and then uses aching fingers to turn it up as high as it will go.

Taking the three towels and the two blankets, he moves back to John. The man is still, not shivering at all, and so pale. Snow melts off of him, soaking into his clothes, and Peter realizes the same is happening to him. Shivering harder, his fingers now stinging, he knows he needs to get himself dry first, but every instinct is urging him to tend to John. His wolf whimpers with that need.

Cursing softly, he yanks off his coat and sweater, then his gloves, tugs at his bootlaces until they loosen enough for him to remove them, then peels off his ice crusted jeans. His t-shirt and boxers are only slightly damp, but his socks are soaked, so he gets them off, then dries his hair and wraps one of the quilts around himself, before moving to John. 

Peter's fingers continue to sting, but the numb, thick feeling in them has faded, and he removes the other man's clothes quicker, drying his limbs and his hair, and leaving him in boxer shorts. He checks the radio again and it's dead, not even static.

John never moves, but he's alive. Covering him with both quilts, Peter drapes their clothes over a couple of hard back chairs, turns their boots upside down, then spreads the two dry towels on the cold floor. Picking up John's limp body, he places it on the towels, curls up next to him, and pulls the blankets over both of them. John is cold, too cold, and Peter squirms out of his t-shirt, and wraps himself around and half over the other man, shivering until his body heat starts to warm them both.

He's never been happier to be a werewolf as they run hotter than humans.

After a while, John starts to shiver, and, with his mind working again, Peter knows this is a good thing. He holds him tighter, breathing warmly against his neck, until the shivering slows and finally stops.

John stirs, moans low in his throat, and Peter sighs in relief.

"...Peter?" His voice is a whisper, but it's a good sign.

"I'm here. We're okay," he murmurs back.

"Where...?"

"An old shack on the edge of the lake." Lifting his head slightly, he realizes the arm tucked beneath John has gone a bit numb and his knee is lightly pressed to the other man's crotch, but he's not moving any farther away.

"The storm." John's eyes are open and he flicks his tongue over dry, chapped lips, then clears his throat. "That...was sudden." His brow furrows in confusion.

As he's been lying there, Peter's been running over the events of the night, all the possibilities, and come to one conclusion. "It's not natural. The weather report was for a dry night, temperatures around forty for a low. I'm thinking an elemental spell or just an elemental."

"My radio?"

"It's not working, and the storm doesn't sound like it's dying down at all."

"You saved me." Something flickers in John's eyes, and a hint of pink floods his cheeks.

Relieved and happy, despite the mess they're in, Peter replies, "You saved me, first, John." At the confusion on the other man's face, he lowers his head and whispers in his ear, "Kept me sane, kept me from becoming an Omega, gave me a home and a friend and..."

Before he can continue, John rolls his head and presses their mouths together. Surprised, Peter's eyes go wide, then drift shut as the kiss continues until they're both breathless.

Exhausted, John leans into Peter's neck, and the wolf willingly and eagerly bares it to the human Alpha.

"Been wanting to do that for a couple days," John mumbles, and his hand that's pressed between the two of them moves slowly over Peter's stomach, making him feel like he's melting.

"Oh?" he manages to get out, though his voice is oddly strangled.

"Okay with it?"

Yes.

"Yes."

A small smile crosses John's face and his eyes close again, but his heart beats firmly and his breathing is strong and even. "Talk when we get home."

"Yeah."

Home.

Warmth that has nothing to do with the blankets or the body he's wrapped around fills him, and Peter smiles, content.

A few minutes later, John is asleep and the winds outside have died. Glancing towards the window, Peter sees the moon and a few stars breaking through parting clouds. The snow has stopped, and he thinks it's getting warmer. The rime on the window is melting.

They'll figure out what the Hell all this was in the morning.

Feeling safe enough, he lets himself drift into a light sleep, warm and happy, the cold that's existed inside for years, slowly thawing.

End


End file.
